Cobwebs
by AlexWayne
Summary: Takes place at the end of "Firewall" or the season Finale as Reese is about to start his search for Finch after he was kidnapped by Root. Please Review! Thanks! *Note: I just uploaded the final chapter of this story. I wanted to thank everyone for their tremendous support and encouragement! I hope you all enjoyed the story and will enjoy the premier of Person of Interest: 9/27/12
1. Chapter 1

John sits at Harold's desk, staring at the blank monitor. He taps his fingers quietly on the dark wood desk. Quiet though it may be, the sound is echoing off the walls through the nearly empty apartment. He leans back in the leather chair and closes his eyes. Taking the moment to compose himself.

The images of what happened two days ago flood his field of vision. Not only now, but constantly. The gunfight in the parking garage goes by quickly and he hardly takes in details. Even his conversation with Carter and Fusco in the car are a blur. It's that last phone conversation with Harold before he disappeared that hung over John's every thought.

He could remember vividly telling Harold to save Caroline and get away from the Garage and every time he replayed the memory, a part of him was yelling at Finch not to trust her. Not to let her in the car, just drive away and he would be safe. But John knew that's not how it happened, and the voice could change nothing.

In his head, he imagines what Finch's reaction must have been when he found out Caroline was not who she seemed. Was he scared? He must have been. But did he show it? Or perhaps he put on a brave face.

Another terrible thought came to mind: Did she hurt him?

Under what pretext did he leave with her? Gunpoint? Or did she knock him out and drive away? The latter caused a sudden extreme pang of guilt in Reese's gut. It also sparked another feeling: anger.

_So help me god if she touched him..._

The shadow he left on the desk was slowly fading, which caused him to turn to the window. The sun was setting. That would mark another day that Finch has been missing.

Caroline hadn't sent any demands, so this wasn't a ransom. She hasn't left any clues so she doesn't want John to chase her. She wants Harold. She had wanted him from the beginning. But why?

The only two things he had to go on was the dead woman and one word: Root.

Zoe was working on digging up any information about this and the other day had sent the messages sent between Root and Harold.

_She knew his name. She knew who he was and he didn't know her. _

Their exchange clearly showed that she wanted a nemesis of sorts but John could recall why. Was it about the machine? If so, what could she possibly gain from Harold? His life was about the machine now.

_He wouldn't give it up unless he was-_

John didn't want to think about what circumstances would lead to him giving up the machine. John sighed a deep sad sigh and rose from the chair, silently prowling his colleague's home.

_His nest, _John thought with a touch of dark humor.

He came to a stop at the bookshelf, the heart of Harold's being. Running a hand across the dark mahogany shelves, he came up with no dust.

_No cobwebs on his shelves, just skeletons in his closet._

John stopped, holding his hand up for inspection. This simple statement that defined Harold so well also stuck a chord within John.

_Yes, Harold would have put on a brave face. He would have held an image that didn't reflect what was happening beneath. Like me..._

John turned back and could see through the doorway Harold's office with the empty desk chair and humming machines. A chill went over the room that didn't match the heat from the declining sun outside.

_I will find you Harold...i will..._

John moved to the door and his hand felt heavy as he reached for the door, when a familiar smell pushed to the front of his mind.

The bakery down the street.

John spun around and saw that Finch had left the window in the main room open a crack. Out of respect, John went back to close it. On the table by the window something caught his eye. John leaned over and picked up a book and immediately remembered when he last saw it.

Images of a drugged Harold flood his memory and his facial muscles are forced to pull into a tight smile. It fades away slowly when he replays Finch's last words to him that evening:

"Ask me anything."

_If only I knew then what I know now...why didn't I ask you something then...ask..._

It became clear John didn't know what he would have asked him. It did nothing to make him feel any better about the situation.

_Did he want me to ask about it? _

John ran his fingers down the spine of the old book and played with the aging corners of the binding. The title was getting harder and harder to make out as the sun slipped away and John knew it was time to leave.

Keeping the book in his hand, he strode to the door and without hesitation, pulled the thick door open. Looking back one last time before shutting the door, everything about the past 9 months poured into the abyss that was this room.

John could see Harold explaining the machine at the desk. See the numbers pile up on the board. The pictures fly by as they were taped on the glass. John could see Harold limping around the place looking for a runaway baby. He saw saw Harold hand him a birthday present.

He saw Harold carry stacks of his fiance's magazines. He saw Harold sipping his Sencha Green Tea. Harold...the memories skipped on like a slideshow. Every one of them, good or bad, made John smile.

Harold believed in second chances.

The machine. Harold's limp. Harold's secret "nephew". John's past. The numbers. The machine.

It all came back to the machine.

Harold believed in second chances...

He wanted to help people because he couldn't help himself. He even helped John, who didn't think he _could _be helped.

_He saved my life...he saved me and now I have to save him._

This newfound determination swelled inside him and suddenly he knew what he had to do.

The machine.

The machine was the reason Harold was captured and now John is going to use it to find him. What was it Harold was doing with the phone?

_I have to get him back._

John could feel his fingers tighten around the book and his brow creased with concentration.

_I _will _get him back._

John allowed the door to close behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

John sits in the sand, staring out across the ocean. He's in shorts and a tee shirt with a bottle of whiskey seated next to him. A breeze rolls across the waves and ruffles his hair while he closes his eyes and breathes in deep before sighing it back out. Slowly he rises to his feet and, leaving the bottle behind, goes out to wade in the water. The current is slow and soothing and splashes lightly against his calves. But a burst of wind nearly knocks him over, so he decides to walk where it is shallower. John heads further down the beach and comes to a rocky section with a cliff about 30 feet high directly above the crashing waves.

Spotting a seashell, he strolls over and picks it up, turning the smooth object over in his hands. A loud splash turns John's attention back to the rock formation, and when he sees the pattern of disturbed water, looks up to see where the rock had fallen from: the cliff.

Because the sun was so bright, John had to shield his eyes but there was no mistaking the person perched dangerously close to the cliff edge was, in fact, Finch.

John springs into action and immediately scales the large rocks that lead to the cliff and he begins to climb at a rapid pace. When he reaches the top, tired though he now is, he sprints to the edge where Finch has his back to him, stopping ten feet behind.

This is the first time John noticed that Finch is in a full suit despite the extreme beach heat. Finch leans over the cliff edge and looks as though he is about to jump off when John yells out to him.

"Finch! Stop!"

Finch spins around and looks puzzled but then smiles with recognition.

"Hello, John," Finch replies calmly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same." John takes a step closer to Finch.

Finch looks down at John's feet when he realizes he got closer and takes a half step back, toppling a few stones off the side.

"Harold...just...come down...we can talk about this! Just...come on down..." John tries to remain soothing.

Finch just smiles sympathetically and tilts his head to the side, taking in John's flustered appearance.

"You can't help John. This has nothing to do with you."

"But you don't have to do this. Think, think of the people we still have to protect, hmm? What will they do without you?" John takes another half step closer, but Finch's smile is gone and he sends John a warning glance.

"John, just don't. You can't do anything for me."

"Why?" John yells out, exasperated. "Why can't I help you? Why don't you want to live?"

Finch takes a step closer to John and his jaw clenches with frustration.

"Why?" Finch repeats. "You think I _want _to throw myself off this cliff?"

Finch points down over the edge and John follows his finger and sees the sharp rocks and unforgiving waves.

"Then why are you...?" John asks slowly, taking a step closer.

Finch looks away and quickly backpedals awkwardly to the edge he started.

John flinches and raises his hands to try and calm Finch.

"Hey, i'm not going to do anything, I just want to understand...if you don't want to die, then why are you going to jump?"

Finch seems on the verge of tears as he looks down at his own feet, trying to think of what to say next. When he looks up, his eyes are dry but he looks drained.

"Because of _her._" Finch says, barely above a whisper.

"Who...?" John asks slowly, taking a step closer when Finch seems too distracted to notice. "Grace?"

John feels extreme sympathy to Finch who, too, had had to give up someone he loved for all they both had left: the machine.

Finch laughs darkly and shakes his head as he takes off his coat.

"No...no, not Grace, no."

Tossing his jacket over the edge, Finch watches it dance in the wind before coming to rest on the rocks below. Calm at first, it lies still until a wave washes over, pulling the jacket back and forth until a ripping sound resonates as the jacket is torn making Finch cringe. Turning back to John, who hasn't taken his eyes off him, Finch says quietly, "_Her_."

Suddenly the realization of what was happening hit John. Like watching a movie, Finch's kidnapping, Alicia being found dead, John's determination to find Finch flashed before him and when it was done, John noticed that Finch seemed to be studying him.

Finch's presence now confused John because he was supposed to be in Root's hands, what was he doing at this beach? What was _John _doing at this beach?

"Wh...what did she want from you?" John asked, still trying to piece everything together.

"Don't strain yourself John, I know this doesn't make any sense. I don't really get it either."

John looks at Finch, waiting for an explanation but Finch just shrugs and turns back toward the edge.

"Harold!" John yells out, taking a few steps closer, holding out a hand as if to pull Finch back.

Finch turns back again, more out of pity than doubting whether or not he should jump.

"John..." Finch begins, smiling slightly. "You can't help me, you can only help yourself now. You've always had to help others...now it's your turn. Just go, you can still make a life for yourself. You've done it before."

Finch turns back to the edge and John goes closer, only a few feet away now.

"Why won't you let me help you? If Root is doing this...why won't you let me stop her?"

Without turning around, Finch replies, "Because she said she would kill you."

Taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes, Finch stepped over the edge.

"No!" John ran to the edge to catch him, but Finch's wrist slipped in his hand and John knew he had lost him.

John closed his eyes as he lifted his head up and wanted to scream out in pain. When he opened his eyes though, he found himself sitting at Harold's desk, wearing a full suit and was not, in fact, at a beach.

_It had all been a dream_, John told himself, but the conversation between he and "Finch" didn't settle well, regardless of it not being real.

John wiped the sweat from his brow and saw his hand was shaking. Pulling off his jacket, he stood up and rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face before pausing and catching his own reflection in the mirror. He looked ragged and unkempt.

_It's been a week...i have to find him..._

Heading back to the desk, John gathered the papers he had been collecting on Finch for the past few days, getting anything he thought might explain who Root was and her connection to Finch.

A ding rang out in the room.

John's eyes scanned the room as he had one hand on the gun at his hip. As he looked around, he caught sight of a line of green text on the otherwise blank monitor beside him. John couldn't believe his eyes as he leaned in closer, not sure if this was good or bad.

There was only one line:

"Root: _Hello John."_


	3. Chapter 3

John stumbles backwards as he re-reads the line of text. There it sat, plain as day on the monitor, the person he has been searching for. Rushing forward he plants himself down at the desk, pulling the keyboard in close. He raises his hand up to his face and strokes his chin with his thumb and forefinger. Taking a deep breath he begins to type and holds it as he presses send.

"John: Where are you?"

John waits for what seems like an eternity for Root to message back. Every second he becomes more desperate for a response and when he finally gets it, the message knocks the wind out of him.

"Root: Somewhere safe."

His fingers fly across the keys as he becomes more hungry for information.

"John: What have you done to Finch?"

As his heart rate increases, a vein starts to throb in his temple. John taps his fingers impatiently and fidgets uncomfortably in the chair that was adjusted for a smaller man, its previous owner.

"Root: I haven't done anything to him."

"John: Then why did you take him?"

John responded almost instantly and sits back while he waits again. The space between messages take longer this time as Root seems to be thinking of an answer.

"Root: You wouldn't understand."

"John: Try me."

John is no longer thinking about what he wants to say, he already knows. He isn't going to play this game anymore. Harold's life is on the line and John wants this to be over.

"Root: This is not about you, John. You better leave things alone."

"John: Not a chance. Finch doesn't have anything you want, so you need to let him go. Where are you?"

"Root: John...I don't want to hurt him, but I will if you don't drop this now."

John sits back in the chair and the last line hit him like a ton of bricks, but there is still fire inside him.

"John: You are playing a dangerous game, Caroline. You touch one hair on his head, and I will kill you."

The next line of text sends a shockwave of panic through John.

"Root: I just broke one of his fingers. He doesn't need all of them to type anyhow."

"John: Leave him alone, Caroline! What do you want him for?"

John presses the keys with such force he nearly brakes the last few. Thats when he notices how warm the room has become and he rolls his sleeves up, paying no attention to the button that ripped off and went bouncing off the table and onto the floor.

"Root: It has nothing to do with you. How many times do I have to say this?"

"John: It doesn't matter if it's about me or not. You have to let him go."

"Root: No, John, I don't. I don't have to do anything you say because you are in no position to be making demands."

John runs his hand through his hair and exhales deeply before an idea comes to mind.

"John: You said he didn't need all his fingers to type, type what?"

John hunches over, his face inches from the screen, hands poised above the keys, awaiting Root's answer.

_Your move._

"Root: I have a gun trained on Harold's kneecap. He doesn't need that to type either."

"John: How do I know you are telling the truth?"

"Root: You don't. I will give you to the count of three to tell me you will stop pursuing us or I will pull the trigger."

John starts to become wary but he holds his ground.

"John: I will find you."

"Root: One."

"John: And I will kill you."

"Root: Two."

"John: You are making a mistake. You can't run forever."

There is another pause and John sits, tense, holding his breath as he waits to see if she makes good on her threat.

"Root: I hope you can live with yourself, knowing the terrible amount of pain you are putting him through now...three."

John closes his eyes and lifts his head to the ceiling, praying that Finch passes out from the pain so he isn't awake for what Root must be doing to him. Swallowing to clear his throat, he opens his eyes to a new line of text.

"Root: How much will you allow him to suffer for your stubbornness?"

"John: I can't let you get away."

"Root: Admirable. But will he see it the same way when I start hurting him more?"

"John: I accept the responsibility of the pain he is going through, but I will make it so much worse for you when I find you."

John smacks the send key and sits there with scenarios of Finch's torture flashing through his mind.

_Why is she doing this? What does she want?_

Suddenly the lines of text disappears and the screen glitches before becoming blank.

"No." John says quietly as he starts frantically typing, trying to bring back the conversation. When he can't do anything, he lets his head fall into his hands.

_I failed him..._

The glitching starts again but this time, the blank screen is replaced by a familiar face.

"Harold..." John says quietly.

Finch is in his vest and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He looks worn out but the fear in his eyes makes him oddly alert. Sweat shines on his face and the discoloration of a bruise has begun to form under his right eye. He is trembling slightly but he seems mostly intact.

"John...?" Finch says hesitantly.

"I'm here Harold. Are you alright?"

Finch fidgets in his chair and looks to something offscreen. Most likely Caroline is giving him signals off to the side.

"I'm...I'm alright..." Finch replies, shifting his eyes back to the screen.

"What did she do to you?" John demands, sliding closer to the monitor.

Finch looks off to the side again.

"No," John raises his voice. "Don't look at her, tell _me_! What did she do to you?"

Finch begins to look nauseous and as though he may throw up, but the color in his face starts to come back and he swallows hard.

"I'm okay...she...she..." Finch sits up straight as he tries to compose himself. "She doesn't want you to try and follow us anymore."

"I don't care, Finch," John shoots back. "I'm going to find you, Harold. I'm going to get you out of there."

John pauses as Finch smiles sadly, much like he did in John's dream.

"Where are you?" John says carefully.

Finch looks to the side and John knows she must be threatening him off camera.

"I can't tell you, John," Finch replies. "She gets very unhappy when I don't do as she says...I..." Finch swallows again. "I think she may kill me."

"What does she want?" John asks impatiently.

Finch thinks for a moment and looks to the side again.

"I feel this may be the last time I will see you again, John."

"Harold, stop..."

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for me." Finch continues.

John scoots closer still to the screen and begins to panic.

"No, Finch, listen to me..."

"You've really shown true compassion and for that I will be forever grateful."

"Finch, Enough!"

"Do you remember the time you fought your way through a train yard? It was raining that day so the bay was overflowing nearby. I don't know how you made it through...I would have been so afraid."

John was suddenly confused as he tried to rack his brain for that memory.

_What is he talking about? That never happened._

"Or when I lost Leila in the apartment?" Finch continued with a laugh.

Like a splash of cold water, the meaning behind Finch's first statement hit him.

_He's telling me where to find him._

"I get scared so easily...bravery doesn't come naturally for me like it does for you...so you'll be alright. You will be able to take care of yourself," Finch continued, looking John straight in the eyes. " Don't chase me anymore. I will miss you John."

"You wont miss me for long," John replied with a nod to indicate he understood Finch's hint.

Finch smiled and nodded.

"I will find you, Harold," John said with determination and a slight touch of anger. "I will get you back."

Finch's smile started to vanish as a shape came towards Finch and cast a shadow on his figure. Finch turned his attention toward it but said quietly,

"Goodbye, John."

With that, the feed was cut.

_A train yard by the bay._

John started frantically typing and soon found two addresses for train yards by the bay. Only one was abandoned.

_Hold on, Harold, I'm coming..._

John jumped out of his seat and threw his coat over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him as he left the apartment, leaving the place quiet and completely undisturbed, except for the white button laying on the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

One Week Earlier...

"We have so much to talk about." Caroline smiles as she edges closer to Harold, who's paralyzed in the driver seat.

Harold's eyes have expanded to the size of tennis balls and a tremor that started several minutes ago in his left hand has now increased and spread the length of his arm. He balls his fist to try and hide the extreme fear he is experiencing.

_Oh, God...how did we not see__ this? _

Harold's initial frustrations with their negligence is replaced with a sudden thought of his own stupidity.

_Why didn't I alert John of my conversation with Root in the first place? That way something like this would never have happened!_

Suddenly, Caroline grabs a hold of Alicia's coat and begins to pull her into the backseat. The crimson splatters start to become visible and Harold has to turn to the steering wheel and concentrate on the leather pattern to distract himself from the thought of vomiting.

_Breathe...just breathe..._

Kicking the back door open, Caroline throws Alicia from the car with a thud that makes Harold jerk forward as he holds down a gag. Caroline notices this movement and smiles in an amused fashion and Harold suddenly wishes she would not see him in such a vulnerable position. But thats what this was, Harold was so vulnerable right now, trapped in a car with Root holding a gun. Slamming the door hard so Harold flinches, Caroline climbs into the passenger seat next to him.

"Don't worry. She was meaningless. Disposable even. Not like _you._" Caroline adds with a jab of her gun.

Harold is far from convinced, but he meets her gaze with the bravest face he can muster.

"What do you want?" Harold asks, quietly.

"Don't you remember?" Caroline giggles frighteningly. "Our conversation when I contacted your computer?"

"Hacked." Harold corrected.

Caroline pretends to be offended.

"'Hacked' sounds so harsh." She responds.

"Well, you did just shoot someone in cold-blood. Don't pretend to be so soft."

This time her offense is a little more genuine, but a smile quickly replaces it as she laughs.

"You know, Harold, I thought _John_ had a quick tongue..."

Harold sits there, unresponsive.

"Don't look at me with such disgust, Harold. There are more than enough of _your _secrets I wouldn't imagine you are too proud of." Caroline snaps back, buckling her seatbelt.

Harold says nothing, but looks at her with disdain.

"How can you do this? After everything John did to protect you? You just go ahead and screw him over. Was _he _invaluable?" He says after a moment.

"He is not important." She responds quickly before bringing her gun closer to Harold. "Drive."

"Drive where?" Harold asks without budging.

Caroline allows her gun to rest just above Harold's knee and presses her face in close to his.

"I'll tell you when to stop," She smiles.

Harold puts the car in drive but his foot feels heavy when he presses the gas. Taking a moment to look at the building's door as they drive away, he prays that John would come running out, unharmed and ready to spring to Harold's rescue, but it doesn't happen.

_Oh John...please forgive me..._

They drive in silence, only broken by a direction here and there. They take the most inconvenient route, possibly to make sure they are not followed, as it takes the better part of two hours while they haven't traveled more than an hour away. They come to a stop on the opposite end of the city, at a train yard. It's quiet with large amounts of rust everywhere. The front gate to the yard has a broken lock so Harold figures it hasn't been in use for a number of years.

Caroline has him pull the car around back and stop in a small hangar to hide the car. When he grabs the keys from the ignition, she stops to face him.

"Come on, Harold. We have some catching up to do!"

He reluctantly allows her to lead him into one of the smaller buildings. It has many broken windows and the power doesn't work. But the light from the midday is still enough to mostly illuminate the shabby room. In the center of the room is a small metal chair and rope lays in a heap next to it.

"Sit." Caroline orders with a shove towards the chair.

Once he is seated, she proceeds to tie him to the chair, taking extra care so that he cannot wiggle his arms free from behind his back. Once he is firmly strapped in place, she stops to admire her work. Smiling with satisfaction, she slides a desk chair up to face him and plants herself on it.

"Alrighite then!" Caroline begins. "Where were we?"

"You were pretending you aren't a cold-hearted killer who has forced me against my will to be here."

Caroline smiles as if his statement has jogged her memory.

"Ah yes," She runs her left hand up and down the barrel of her gun. "Let's start at the beginning. Ingram."

At his name, Harold can't help show a twinge of pain in his eyes. He ties to look away, but she already saw it.

"You built his magic machine?" she asked, taking advantage of his emotional state.

"You already know this." Harold shoots back.

"I wanted to hear it from your voice."

Harold glares at her, but allows himself to continue.

"You know I built it. Alicia was one of the few people who knew of its existence. Now her and Nathan are dead, but another person knows now."

"John." Caroline answers.

Harold nods and his expression softens before he becomes interested for more information.

"Why are you asking if you already know everything?"

"I want to know _how _you did it." Caroline leans in close as if she is trying to catch the knowledge with her teeth.

Harold feels his hands tremble behind him as he weighs his options.

"I want to know how you made it. I want to know how it works. I want to know how you found John, because that is not his real name. I want to know who you really are, Harold Finch. Who you were before you met Nathan. I want to know the names of all the people who are conscious of the machine's existence. And then I want you to give me access to the machine."

This was a lot to take in and Caroline seemed to be waiting for a response.

_I'll give you a response..._

"You want to know how I made it? Genius. Time. Patience. Effort. It works because I built it well. I found John because i'm good with computers. My name is not important because i'm not the man I was before I met Nathan. You want the names of the other people who know about the machine? _I _don't even know all their names." Harold paused for breath. "And you want access to the machine?"

He pulled every ounce of defiance he had left.

"Not a snowball's chance in hell."

At his own response, Harold thought he might pass out.

_She's going to kill me for that._

At first, Caroline seemed frustrated, but her eyes softened and she leaned back in her chair.

"Harold," She began, sympathetically, "I admire your courage, I really do."

Finch shifts nervously in his chair.

"But," Caroline continues. "As you pointed out, I killed the woman without any hesitation. Now, I already established that I wont kill you. That doesn't mean I won't hurt you to get your cooperation."

The tremor returns in both of Harold's hands.

"Now," Caroline begins again, "You wanna give me straight answers?"

_She isn't playing around. She is going to make this very terrible if i'm not honest..._

But Harold shakes his head and looks away, a tear starting to form in his eye.

Caroline looks almost apologetic as she leans over and slaps him across the face. Harold gasps in surprise and a burning sensation creeps over his cheek. In a matter of seconds, a large red welt has begun to from in its place.

"Don't be stupid, Harold. You are not John. You were not trained by the CIA to handle interrogations, so let's not make this one. It's just a question session." She says quietly.

Her intentions backfire though because upon her mention of John, Harold immediately thinks of what Reese would do in this situation and decides to press on.

"I may not be John...but I will keep my secrets as such," Harold whispers.

Caroline nods and stands up, slightly disappointed. This time she winds up her fist and makes contact hard with his face, creating a gash that begins to bleed on his left cheek. A small cry escapes his lips but he squeezes his mouth shut to reduce temptation. When she realizes she made no progress, Caroline proceeds to deliver painful blow after another to his face. Each one accompanied by a small shout or cry. After a handful punches, Finch has a few tears trickling down his cheek.

"We've got time, Harold, I can do this all day."

With a small sniff, Harold looks her in the eye.

"I'm not going anywhere." He chokes out.

Caroline snorts, impressed, but strolls around Finch's chair until she is positioned in his blind spot. Harold tries to act like it doesn't bother him, but he imagines horrible things she can do to him before he can see it. As she brings one hand gently on his shoulder he flinches but doesn't move away. Only when she begins to squeeze his shoulder does the terror of his situation set in.

"I seem to recall you had a back injury, am I correct?" Caroline asks, mockingly.

Harold's eyes are wide again and he says a silent prayer, begging she doesn't commence the horrific pain he knows he will receive.

"All you have to do is tell me..." Caroline begins will tracing circles on his neck.

Harold swallows and closes his eyes.

"John wouldn't cave, why should I?"

Caroline pulls her fingers together tightly and a yelp escapes Harold's lips. She twists her hand around slightly and though Harold tries to force his moth shut, he allows a loud cry to echo through the room. She squeezes tighter and tighter as Harold's scream becomes more forceful. His hands are balled tightly and his head swims with the indescribable pain. Just when he thinks he is going to pass out, Caroline releases him and the yelling stops.

"Harold...that is a fraction of what I am capable of doing to you. Don't test me." Caroline begins.

Finch is still trying to remain conscious as he takes in her warning.

"I'm going out for a while. When I come back, you better have some answers for me."

She stands straight up and struts to the side door, opens it, and slams it with immense force.

Harold just allows himself a moment to catch his breath and situate himself in a way that doesn't further injure his back.

_I have to get out of here. I can't go through something like that again..._

Harold stares longing at the large window in the ceiling of the establishment.

_John...where are you?_

The pain in his back begins to recede for a moment, but Harold will never forget the pain. Never before had he hurt so bad and just when he thought he may die, she stops and suddenly all these thoughts flood his mind. Images of things he's done, things he wants to do, and it all comes back to him seated in the chair.

_She's serious. But I can't tell her anything._

Harold is at war with himself, not just over the pain. The only thing that keeps him in line is thinking of John.

_He's been through much worse than this and lived...you just have to...tough it out..._

He was beginning to have doubts. He could never have enough self-doubt, but there was one person he was beginning to count on, John. He knew John would be looking for him right now, that he would have pieced it together and was trying to get him back.

_I have to be strong. Like John, because he's on his way. He's on his way and he'll be here soon._

A cold feeling crept into his mind.

_I just hope he's not too late..._


	5. Chapter 5

The sun is beginning to go down and still Caroline has not returned. Finch can hear his stomach growling and his mouth is dry. He licks his lips and imagines how nice it would be to have tea right now. As he shifts in his chair, a sharp pain goes through his neck.

_I've been tied to this chair all day...when is she coming back?_

Harold tries to twist his wrists around, attempting to loosen the knots that bind them together. When it doesn't work, he tries pulling his ankles outwards to untie those ropes. When none of the ropes even budge, he stops to take a look at his surroundings.

_I need to get something to cut my way out._

He is struck with an idea and begins rocking his chair. When another wave of pain shoots through him he tenses up and the chair goes crashing onto its side, slamming him off the concrete floor. Harold groans and looks at a piece of glass laying on the ground several yards in front of him. With a kick of his legs, he drags himself no more than a few inches. He tries to scoot on his shoulder but the pain sets in again and he's forced to stop.

_If I could just get that piece of glass..._

He tries to scoot again but the pain is becoming too much. Frustrated, he kicks forward, moving less than a foot and spots appear in his vision. Harold slumps in defeat. Tucking his head into his chest, his glasses fall off. Harold stares, unbelieving as his glasses stare back at him, blurry on the floor.

_This can't get any worse!_

He leans forward, trying to catch them in his teeth when a metal piece of them cuts his lip. He gasps and licks his sore lips and can taste a tiny bead of blood.

_That was really sharp!_

Suddenly he gets another idea and begins scooting around until his hands are by his glasses. Straining to grab them, he reaches the glasses and hold them in his hands, sighing with relief. Quickly be begins to slide the sharp edge back and forth across his binds and with a snap, Harold feels tiny cords of the rope break. He can barely contain his excitement as he cuts faster. He can feel his arm grow tired but he's making progress.

_Keep going! You are going to get out of here!_

An engine sound can be heard through the silence and Harold stops as he sees headlights shine through the broken windows.

_No! She's back!_

Harold starts cutting even faster and catches his wrist in the hurry. Not even stopping to examine his new wound his hand flies across the ropes. As footsteps approach, his left wrist comes free and he starts to untie his right. When the heavy door slides open, Harold can see a blurry figure pause and look at him.

"Taking a nap, Harold?" Caroline asks in mock concern.

He continues slowly untying himself until both arms are free.

_She has a gun...i can't let her know i'm untied until she is really close. Maybe if I can surprise her I can overpower her..._

The attempt seems futile, but it's his best shot of escaping. Slowly, Caroline walks to a tool bench. Sitting down her bag, she comes over and grabs Harold's chair by the back and pulls him into an upright position. Dropping his glasses, he snaps his eyes shut and hopes she didn't hear them hit the floor. Caroline stops for a minute and squats down to pick them up.

_If i'm getting out, I have to move now!_

Harold lunges at her and the chair topples over, but not before he gets both hands on her shoulders. He throws a nervous punch but because of the dark, (and not wearing glasses) he can't see where he made contact. His hands fly to his feet and he frantically unties them. Pulling himself into a kneeling position, he gets up and starts limping towards the door.

_Where will I go? I don't have her keys so I cant take the car! I can't outrun her!_

As he reaches the side door, something heavy and metallic come into contact with the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

When he wakes up, the sun is bright again.

_How long was I out?_

Harold can feel his hands rebound and in his blurry vision, he sees Caroline twirling his glasses.

"That was pretty impressive, Harold. I didn't think you'd be able to escape from those knots." She was saying as she leans in close enough for him to make out her face. "I'll have to be more careful this time."

She plants the glasses back on Harold's face firmly, jabbing him with the sides.

"Can I trust you to not use your glasses for anything other than to see? I'd hate to have to take them away," She leans back and inspects his slightly ragged appearance.

"Yes." Harold mumbles.

Caroline smiles with satisfaction and walks over to her bag, pulling a water bottle from it. She takes a sip and allows a drip to trickle off her bottom lip. In her peripherals she can see Harold's lips part as he longs for a sip as well.

"You thirsty?" She asks as she puts the cap back on. "Yeah...I bet you are..."

Caroline steps froward and uncaps the bottle and tips it towards Harold's open mouth. Just as the water is about to exit the bottle, Caroline pulls it back and shakes her head. Harold's eyes snap shut and he lets his head fall into his chest.

_I should have seen that coming..._

"Let's make a deal...i'll give you water...if you give me answers..." Caroline replies.

Harold doesn't look up to meet her eyes. He just stares at his lap and says nothing.

"Come on, Harold. Are you going to go on a thirst strike?" Caroline raises her voice.

Harold still remains quiet.

"I'm sorry I hit you." Caroline's voice softens which makes Harold look up for the first time. "It was wrong of me...i was frustrated," She continued. "I just really need to know, Harold."

Harold considers this but looks away without a word.

"Aren'tcha going to talk anymore?" Caroline starts again. "Think about this...what are you hurting by giving me a couple straight answers?"

Harold meets her eyes, "...everything we built," He replies quietly.

"'We'..?" Caroline asks.

"Nathan and I...we built this machine...to...stop evil. To stop crimes against humanity. I wanted to help the government _protect _it's people...but Nathan wanted so much more out of it. He was dreaming big. He wanted to help _all _people...not just the 'important' ones. It wasn't until his death that I realized...the irrelevants _were _the important ones all along...and the people I was focusing on...the terrorists...were nothing compared to people like you." Harold says calmly.

For a moment, Caroline seemed speechless. She just stood back and went over his words in her head. Not saying anything but looking down at Harold with confusion until her expression turned friendly and she smiled.

"You are such the hero, aren't you? Your time with John has made you that." She leans in close. "Know this Harold...no amount of bold speeches about your do-gooding will make you a hero."

Finch remained still, but inside he was hurt by her words.

"You are just as broken as the people you try to fix. You spend your entire life trying to justify your mistakes by punishing others for theirs. The government isn't the only problem, Harold. It's you. It's Nathan. And it's that machine. With all three in the government's hands, it's done more harm than good." She continues, venom in each word.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Harold responds softly. "I don't know what it is that you want...but you can't have it. There is enough corruption in the world without you adding to it."

Caroline strikes him across the face.

"You are not worthy of the power the machine gives you!" She yells in his face.

"And you are?" Harold snaps back, bracing himself for another hit.

Caroline raises her hand again, but lowers it as she goes inches from his face.

"I would get rid of all the problems in this world. If the world knew about the machine, no one would dare litter without fear of retribution! Think of the protection that would offer! Free from all terror!"

"But who would free them from you?" Harold asks.

A laugh echoes as Caroline tilts her head back.

"So that's it then, Harold. You are god, while the rest of us are mere mortals?"

"No, i'm nothing. John is judge, jury and executioner, the machine sees all, what do I do? Assist John. I'm not above anyone. The machine may be god, but I just built it. I am just as prone to weakness and failure as anyone else. I like to believe that god doesn't make mistakes..." Harold explains, "No matter how screwed up people may seem," He adds with a look up and down of Caroline.

Caroline allows another laugh to escape her lips as she pulls a chair over and sits.

"We are going to be butting heads aren't we?" She asks.

"Yes." Harold adds defiantly.

"I've already hurt you, and have made no progress..." Caroline begins, "I have already said that you are more use to me alive than dead, so I wont kill you..." Then she pauses. "What about John?"

"What about him...?" Harold asks cautiously.

"What if I kill him? Or send someone after him to capture and torture him. Would you cooperate?"

Harold's eyes widen.

"His life is in your hands." She holds a laptop in front of his face. "Get me access to the machine...or I will kill him."

Harold examines the closed laptop and looks back into Root's eyes.

"Not if he kills you first."


	6. Chapter 6

Finch

For the next several days the routine was pretty much the same. Finch would be woken abruptly, if he even slept at all; Caroline would ask him questions that he wouldn't answer, sometimes striking him for his trouble; she would give him just enough food and water during the day; then move him over to a water pipe and handcuff him for the night. Periodically she would leave him tied to the chair while she went out for the evening, but she always came back to move him to his spot for the night. As small of an improvement though it was, Finch was very happy to move to a more comfortable position due to the strain on his neck the chair gave him.

One night as Finch lay curled next to the pipe in the dark, he remained still but his mind was moving a mile a minute. He had figured that he had been in this building for almost a week now and had not heard anything about John. He knew John was causing trouble for Caroline though, because when she would go out for the day, she would come back and complain to no one in particular. Finch didn't have to hear John's name mentioned for him to know that he was the only person right now that would her angry.

The thought made Finch smile.

The next morning Caroline began asking questions about John. Whether he knew how to operate the machine, if he had the means to track her payments, and many other questions geared to hiding her tracks.

"Oh, I have faith in him." Harold replied with a smile.

By now he was expecting to be struck for every snide comment he made, but today, she began pacing back and forth, mumbling under her breath. Finch sat back and wasn't sure if this was a good sign, but when Caroline started biting her nails, he decided it was.

"Your friend is causing me a lot of trouble, Harold. He is snooping in places he should not be. My informants say that he has gained access to things he should never in a million years be able to get!" Caroline leans into Harold's face. "Tell me how this is possible!"

Harold shrugs and the corners of his mouth hitch into a smile as she turns around.

Caroline stops for a moment and runs over to the tool bench and picks up the laptop. Running back to Harold, she unties his hands but leaves the rest of the knots in place. Handing him the laptop, he takes it carefully, not sure what this break in their routine means.

"I want you to gain access to your computer," She explains.

"Why...?" Harold asks slowly.

Caroline leans in close again and Harold could see the darkness in her eyes.

"I know John must be wherever your computer is and I want to get in touch with him."

_Get in touch with John? He must be getting close...she wants to get him off her back..._

Harold lifts the lid of the laptop and starts it up. It hums for a minute then he begins typing quickly before a thought comes to mind.

"Why don't _you_ do it?" Harold begins, "You breached my security before...why don't _you _contact him?"

He closes the lid and holds it out for her to take back.

"I want you to tell him to stop chasing us," Caroline responds.

"You tell him," Harold extends his arms farther out.

Caroline snatches it back and walks over to the bench.

"Why didn't you pretend like you would and try to send for help...?" Caroline asks slowly.

"You already have it rigged. If I send a distress signal out or try to contact anyone, you have a backtrace so you can find whomever I try to contact. Including John." Harold replies. "You do it."

Caroline huffs with frustration but opens the channel herself.

Several dings sound over the next few minutes as Caroline must be having her conversation with John. After a while, Caroline sighs and turns back to Harold.

"He's even more stubborn than you are," She snorts. "He doesn't believe I would hurt you to make my point."

Harold swallows.

"Should we prove him wrong?" She asks menacingly.

Harold wipes his now-sweaty palms on his pants.

Caroline strolls over and pulls her gun out, cocking it before sitting above his knee.

"I told him i'll blow out your kneecap if he doesn't leave it alone. He doesn't think I will."

Harold lifts his hands defensively, "Wait...just..." he pleaded.

Another ding sounds.

"You better hope he's telling me he will drop it," Caroline whispers.

Without taking the gun away, she reaches over and picks up the laptop. Whatever John said did not make Caroline happy. Her jaw tightened and her grip on the gun became more strained. Harold's eyes flashed back and forth between the resting gun and Caroline's tense face, hoping he would see it relax and she would remove the gun from where it sat.

"He's not letting up," Caroline began, anger trembling her voice, "What do you say Harold? A little demo for him?"

Harold could barely force himself to swallow.

_Oh god...please no!_

Harold could feel tears forming and he didn't bother to hide them. Guns frightened him more than anything, and there sat one, resting on his knee and it was cold to the touch. His leg was shaking and he tried to move out of the way but the ropes and gun kept him in place.

"Please...Caroline...please don't!" Harold begged.

He could see no sympathy in her eyes and she leaned closer to his face so he could see the intensity and the fact that she means business. Another ding sounded and Harold caught a glimpse of her chat with John. She seemed to be giving John to the count of three like a child before she would hurt Harold. At the same time Harold was glad John wasn't giving Root anything, he was also terrified of the consequences.

With force, Caroline typed "...three."

Harold closed his eyes.

_Oh god, oh god! _

Caroline pressed the gun into his thigh and gave him a malicious stare as she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Harold looked down at his knee to see if it was true. The gun wasn't loaded. Harold exhaled deeply and tried to get his breathing regulated again. Caroline walked back to the tool bench and sat down, resuming her chat with John. Harold could feel sweat trickle down his brow and his hair was plastered flat. He pushed his sleeves farther above his elbow than they were before and slouched in his seat while he waited for his heart to slow.

_She just wanted to put me in my place..._

Harold just sat there panting and occasionally sighing with relief. Suddenly Caroline came back and sat the laptop on Harold's lap as the screen glitched before him. When the glitching stopped, John's face appeared and Harold sat up straight like a shot.

"Harold..." John said.

"John?" Harold asked, unbelieving.

"I'm here, Harold. Are you alright?" John asked quickly.

Finch looks down at his ragged shirt and sees the cuts on his wrist and bruises on his arms. He can only imagine how his face looks. Before answering he glances at Caroline standing off to the side and she shakes her head.

"I'm...I'm alright." Finch replies as he looks back at John.

"What did she do to you?" John asks.

Harold catches a glimpse of Caroline shaking her head again and she loads a full clip into her gun.

"No," John raises his voice. "Don't look at her, tell _me_! What did she do to you?"

Replaying the incident that just passed with the gun, Harold began to feel sick.

"I'm okay...she...she..." Finch sits up straight as he tries to compose himself. "She doesn't want you to try and follow us anymore."

"I don't care, Finch," John shoots back. "I'm going to find you, Harold. I'm going to get you out of there."

_I know you will John..._

Finch smiles sadly while the nausea starts to pass.

"Where are you?" John asks carefully.

Finch looks at Caroline again and she cocks her gun.

"I can't tell you, John," Finch replies. "She gets very unhappy when I don't do as she says...I..." Finch swallows again. "I think she may kill me."

"What does she want?" John asks impatiently.

Finch thinks for a moment and looks at Caroline. She casts a warning glance.

"I feel this may be the last time I will see you again, John." Harold replies.

He doesn't bother to listen to what John says in response.

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for me." Finch continues. "You've really shown true compassion and for that I will be forever grateful."

"Finch, Enough!" He hears John yell.

That's when Finch gets an idea.

"Do you remember the time you fought your way through a train yard? It was raining that day so the bay was overflowing nearby. I don't know how you made it through...I would have been so afraid," Finch begins.

_I have to lead him here..._

"Or when I lost Leila in the apartment?" he continued with a laugh.

_Caroline wont get it if I continue to reference things... _

"I get scared so easily...bravery doesn't come naturally for me like it does for you...so you'll be alright. You will be able to take care of yourself," Finch continued, looking John straight in the eyes. " Don't chase me anymore. I will miss you John."

_John...be careful...please...please be careful..._

"You wont miss me for long," John replied and he nods.

_Good. You know where to find me...i'll be here..._

Finch smiled and nodded.

"I will find you, Harold," John said with determination and a slight touch of anger. "I will get you back."

Finch's smile started to vanish as Caroline started to get close to him with the grip on her gun tight again.

_I hope she didn't pick up on the hint..._

"Goodbye, John," Harold replies without looking away from Caroline.

Caroline grabs the laptop and cuts the feed before tossing it back on the bench with a loud crash.

The sound makes Harold jump.

"Getting a little sentimental, are we?" Caroline taunted.

"He changed my life, Caroline...i spent the last year having near death experiences with him. He saved my life on several occasions...excuse me for-"

"Okay okay!" Caroline jumped in. "I get it..."

She sits her gun on the bench by the laptop and walks over to retie Harold. Making sure she ties it tight, she pulls the ropes around his chest as hard as she could and knocks the wind out of him. When she yanks his arms around to his back, Harold has a sharp intake of breath as the pain in his neck increases again. While she tied his wrists together, Harold started to daydream about John kicking down the door of the building and flying in. The mental image made him smile. When Caroline caught him smiling, she stopped tying him.

"What are you smiling for?" She demanded.

Harold though of John running towards Caroline, guns drawn and that determined, somewhat frightening look on his face.

Caroline tugged on the ropes and jerked Harold back to reality.

"Nothing...just...being 'sentimental'..." he replied with a smirk.

Caroline paused in front Harold and gave him a sideways look.

_Let her think whatever she wants...John is coming..._

The two of them stayed with their eyes locked on each other.


	7. Chapter 7

Reese

Tossing his coat in before him, John climbs into his car, not bothering to put on his seatbelt. (Not that he would even if he wasn't in a hurry) He jams the key into the ignition and with a strike of his foot on the gas, he peeled out of his parking space. The speedometer is increasing and the engine hums like a dragon as he does 70 down the street. He changes lanes in a flash and that's when he sees it.

_She's got people tailing me._

His eyes scan the black Toyota and when he switches lanes again, he is positive that he's being followed. John comes to a stop at a red light and the Toyota stops right behind him. John cracks his neck and through the rear-view mirror, his eyes lock with the Toyota driver, and he slams the gas, cutting dangerously through the intersection during a red-light.

The Toyota sprang forward, racing to catch up with Reese.

_So much for being subtle..._

Not wanting to alert Root that he knows where to find them, he decides he is going to have ditch his tail before he can head to the train yard.

_You guys are wasting my time._

He presses the gas harder and speeds up again, rounding the corner on two wheels. In the rear-view he sees the Toyota make the turn as well, but not as carefully. One of the tires skid and they slow, but start to floor it again.

Reese leads them on a chase that goes through the city, under bridges, in a tunnel and around a park.

_Harold doesn't have time for this._

Upon reaching the park, Reese whips the car around so he is facing the way he came. The Toyota was not as crafty with their turns so the truck was a good distance behind. John climbs out of the car and pops the trunk, pulling a large bag out from under the spare tire. By the time he unzips the bag, the Toyota has just gotten onto his street and is flying full force towards John's parked car.

When John strolls back to the front of the car, the driver notices Reese aim at the Toyota with a large gun resembling a rocket launcher. Before the driver can even swerve out of the way, a large canister smashes through the front window and disperses a white, thick smoke. The driver jerks the car to the side and they crash into a telephone pole. At first John can hear a sputtering sound but then all the passengers become quiet.

John slams the trunk of his car shut and walks over to the Toyota. He then proceeds to pull the unconscious men from the car, saving the driver for last. The driver is just about to pass out when John slaps him in the face.

"221 Orville Road, 'Laxton Crossyard'...is that the address?" John demands.

The driver nods forcefully and drifts into an unconscious state like the others.

John pulls the canister from the truck and tucks it in the driver's arms before climbing into the driver seat. The truck was still running and the keys sat in the ignition. Putting the car in reverse, John spins back away from the park and shoots off to the main road. Once he gets there, he slows to a normal speed once again to avoid any more attention.

Aside from the dent in the car, it was pretty much the same condition before John got it.

Upon reaching a red light, John pulls out his phone and presses one of his speed dials. After a few rings a tired male voice with a heavy New York accent pours our of the speaker.

"I shoulda known you'd be callin' cause I still don't have anything for ya. _I'll _call _you, _kay?"

"Fusco..." John began cooly. "I think I found them..."

John could hear Fusco shifting.

"Stealth is key, Lionel...I don't think she knows that I found her. I need you to grab Carter and meet me at 221 Orville Road. It's an abandoned rail yard called 'Laxton Crossyard.'" Without waiting for a response, John shut his phone and jammed it back in his pocket.

As soon as the light changed green, John sprang forward again.

John's phone started buzzing and he pulls it out. Looking at the lit up screen it read "Carter."

_I'm not answering this right now._

When the buzzing stopped, a beep for voicemail echoed in the silent car.

Twenty minutes later, he reached the rail yard by the bay. Stopping his car outside the lot, he pulled out of site and began to gather his supplies. When he saw the phone, he decides to listen to his voicemail.

"John...it's me..." Carter began, "You gotta be real careful. Don't try anything stupid, okay? We'll be there ASAP so just...sit tight until we can help you out. Be careful!" The robotic voice of the phone took over and he snapped it shut.

Climbing out of the car and walking to the back, he popped the trunk and went over his arsenal.

_Maybe I should bring the rocket launcher, _John thought with frustration.

Finch

Caroline stares at Harold as he begins to become more alert.

_He's going to be here any minute now._

Caroline's cell phone breaks the silenceand she curses as she answers it.

"What?" She spits into her phone. "How did that happen?...Are they dead? ...We have to assume he knows! ...Meet me at the getaway point!" She clicks her phone shut and tosses it onto the bench before running towards Harold with her gun drawn.

"What's going on?" Harold asks innocently as she begins to frantically untie his knots.

"John found us," After untying the last knot, she stands up straight. "Get up!" She barks.

Harold quickly stands up and wobbles slightly from his back pain.

Caroline gestures to the door but she seems unsatisfied with his speed and she grabs his arm and drags him forward.

"Ouch!" Harold exclaims. "Caroline, I can't go that fast! Would you just-"

He's cut off when she jerks him to the side and he loses his balance, toppling over and nearly taking Caroline with him. A loud snap echoes off the walls and Harold yells out before clutching his ankle.

"What happened?" Caroline yells down to him as she tries to right herself.

"I think...i think I sprained my ankle..."

Caroline groans and pulls Harold up to his feet and his eyes shut in pain.

"Let's go." Caroline growls.

Upon taking another step though, Harold stumbles and yells out.

"I can't! I just can't!" He explains.

Frustrated, Caroline still tries to pull him along. Harold, now in serious pain, yanks his arm from her grip and glares at her.

"I can't go any farther," He yells.

Considering her next move, Caroline's expression changes. Becoming more sympathetic, she pulls a chair over for Harold to sit.

"Ok...let's just...go over our options...okay?" Caroline asks cooly.

Harold nods and pulls his ankle in close.

_This hurts so much...it may even be broken!_

"Maybe...if we thought this through..." Harold began.

"Whatever happens next, Harold...know this..." Caroline cut in, slowly becoming more intense. "We are not finished here," She fwarned.

_What does she mean by that?_

Just as Harold is about to turn around and ask her, he is struck upside the head and stars and spots coat his vision before everything became black and cold.

Reese

As soon as the car containing Carter and Fusco arrived, Reese pointed towards the front door and, taking his machine gun with him, headed towards the side. Flinging the door open, John rushed inside. The room was dark but there was cut rope laying in a heap in the middle of the room.

_This is the right place alright._

Suddenly, the sound of tires kicking up gravel shot through the quiet and John went sprinting in that direction. Just as John reached the back door, he saw Finch laying limp on the floor and caught a glimpse of a car take off down the road.

"We'll catch her!" Carter shouted as she headed back for her car.

Reese wasn't paying attention though, he just ran to Finch, who had a small pool of blood forming under his head.

"Harold...can you hear me?" John asked as he knelt down beside him.

Gingerly putting his fingers below Harold's nose, John sighed with relief when he felt little bursts of air.

_He's breathing!_

John flew into action, he pulled off his own jacket and used it to prop up Harold's head while he cradled the rest of his upper body in his arms.

"Harold..." John began again. "Answer me...okay?"

Fusco squatted beside him and handed John a half-full water bottle and a cloth.

John took it with a nod of thanks and poured some of it onto the cloth. He began dabbing Finch's forehead and face until Harold moaned quietly. With a flutter of his eyelids, Harold began to open his eyes.

"Take it easy..." John began as he re-situated himself to allow Harold to sit in a more upright position.

After bringing the water to Harold's lips, John lowered Harold back down flat again.

"Just start slow...you're going to be okay..." John coaxed.

Harold kept blinking his eyes and groaning.

"You have a nice gash in the back of your head...you'll more than likely have a pretty bad concussion so you just need to relax." John was saying.

"Root." Harold choked out.

"Carter's after her..." John replied before his tone got darker, "But she will probably get away."

Harold nodded before groaning again and raising a hand to the back of his head. When he looked at his hand, he saw a splash of red and realized how badly he was bleeding.

"Oh...my..." Harold began, his eyes widening.

"It's not bad," John replied calmly before holding the wet cloth to the back of Harold's head. "It feels worse than it is, i'm sure."

Harold seemed comforted by this and allowed his eyes to droop shut.

"Come on.." John whispered, "Let's get you home."

Upon lifting Harold to his feet, John noticed the ankle wound.

_Wow...he must have at least sprained that too!_

A sickening knot formed in John's stomach as he took in the appearance of the man leaning on his shoulder. Harold's face was bruised and discolored, blood was trickling down his neck, his arms had rope burns and more bruises, while his left wrist had a gash across it. Either his one leg was broken or severely sprained, and it only added to the pain he had to have gone through walking.

Using all his strength, John lifted Harold up over his shoulder, being careful not to jostle his neck.

Walking over to the car, Fusco trotted in front and popped the back door open, leaving a space for John to put Harold inside. Keeping the towel on the back of Harold's head, John laid him down inside, carefully sliding Harold's legs in after him.

Finch

Though barely conscious, Harold watched Reese climb into the front seat, along with Fusco. Reese's phone rang and Harold recognized the other voice to be Carter, no doubt telling Reese how she lost Root.

"I'm so sorry, John." Finch choked out from the back seat, near tears.

"You're going to be alright, Harold." John replied soothingly, meeting Harold's eyes.

John turned his attention to the front and started the car up.

"_Whatever happens next, Harold...know this...We are not finished here," _Finch replays in his head.

_What does that mean...?_

Harold shifts to get a little more comfortable in the back seat and thats when he notices a card-shaped bulge in his pant pocket.

_I didn't have anything in my pockets..._

Reaching in carefully, he pulls out a photo and immediately has the urge to vomit.

It's a picture of him with his arms around Grace.


	8. Chapter 8

"Reese..." Finch whispered, his hand wobbling as he held the picture.

John didn't hear him, but kept speeding on down the road.

"Reese." Finch said a little louder.

Fusco turned around and looked back at Finch. He saw Finch's eyes go watery and his hand was shaking with the picture.

"Reese." Fusco repeated, shaking John's arm.

When John noticed Fusco, he turned around to Finch. John thought everything was going to start getting better, but the pain in Finch's eyes made him realize it was far from over and some new development had arisen. John pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped, turning around and trying to make eye contact with Finch, who was too busy staring at the photo in his hand. Harold's mind was flying and at first he didn't know what to do.

"Go to Grace's." Finch said quickly without looking at John.

"Why, what-"

"Go!" Finch demanded, cutting John off.

Finch shoved the photo in his pocket and he sat up, letting the cloth on his head fall onto the seat. Fusco reached back and picked up the cloth before carefully handing it back to Finch. He took it but just held it in his hands; his mind was elsewhere. John whipped back around and sped up the car again. It was hard for him not to ask questions, but if it involved Grace, he could wait to ask, knowing how sensitive this area was for Finch.

Finch's head was pounding but that and even the throbbing in his ankle seemed far away.

_Grace...i kept her away from me! How did Root find her?_

Finch began balling his hands and tapping his foot with anticipation of going to the house again.

_What am I going to do? She thinks i'm _dead_!_

Reese cuts off his thoughts with the answer to Harold's question, "Stay in the car while I go in."

Harold wanted to argue, but decides against it.

_He's probably right..._

Fusco breaks the following silence, "Um..." He pauses, "...who?"

"Don't worry about it, Fusco," John begins, stopping the car down the street from the house. "Stay here with Finch."

With that, John hopped out of the car and strode down the street.

Fusco sat there quietly, not sure what to say, or even what was going on. The last time he and Finch were in a car together, Finch was incredibly high on ecstasy. Finch could feel the awkward tension between them but ignored it, he stared out the window with a burning desire to see Grace's smile.

"Uh..." Fusco began, "I'm...glad you're okay."

Finch tilted his head and looked at Fusco's reflection in the rear-view. Forcing himself to turn around, Fusco tried to show a light smile.

"Thank you, detective." Finch forced a smile.

"It's not me you should be thanking," Fusco replied, "It's him." He nodded towards Reese down the street. "Since day one, he's been out lookin' for you. I mean...I helped too and Carter..." He trailed off. "But that's not important, _he _was the one out day and night, checkin' up on anything that had to do with you and that woman..."

When Finch only nodded, Fusco continued.

"It's been a crazy summer so far," He said with a laugh.

Finch stared at Fusco and managed a genuine laugh.

_Oh Fusco...you are so simple..._Finch thought as he laughed.

Fusco seemed pleased with himself before his tone got serious.

"I...don't really know what's going on here...but...we knew it would be difficult to get you back...yet he pulled it off..." Fusco's eyes were soft with concern, "Whatever is going on now, I wouldn't be too worried, you two will get through this."

Finch couldn't put his finger on it, but something in the way Fusco said that made him swell with confidence. It _was _true, he and John had succeeded at everything up to this point, John especially; and everything was going to be okay.

"Thank you, Fusco..." Harold replied quietly, "I guess...this past week just made me constantly think of things getting worse...I forgot all the support I have..."

Fusco smiled widely in a sort of pat-yourself-on-the-back way.

When Reese came to the car though, the positive emotions got put on hold.

"Well...?" Finch asked slowly.

"She's not there," John replied closing the driver door.

Harold's heart sank.

"Do you know where she is?" He asked quickly.

When John shook his head, Harold became struck with an urge to run all over the city until he found her.

"Maybe...maybe we could trace her phone, I have my stuff back at the library! Let's go!" Harold yelled.

John started the car and headed back to Harold's but caught his eye in the mirror.

"Harold..." he started softly, "We are going to go back to the library, but then you are going to rest. You were missing for a week, you have obvious injuries and god knows what else she did to you..."

"I'm fine." Harold replied quickly.

"No, you aren't," John said matter-of-factly.

Harold opened his mouth to argue further but John revved the engine and cut him off.

The next hour was a blur, Harold remembered bits of the drive back, seeing his apartment and for the first time, feeling safe again. The last thing he remembered about that day, was John letting Harold use him as a crutch to the large bedroom. Harold flung himself down on the bed and John left a glass of water on the bedside table. Harold wanted to get back up and help search for Grace, but fatigue, pain and the comfort of his bed made him drift off to sleep.

When he woke up, his head was bandaged tightly. He also had a bandage around his left wrist and his ankle was wrapped.

He could tell he had been heavily medicated because his pain was distant and his head was in a fog. Thinking clearly was becoming a challenge as he tried to recall the events that lead him here.

_Grace!_

As soon as it hit him, he flung the sheets away and climbed from the bed, extremely woozy and pins and needles started in his foot. The recent ankle injury made his limp more pronounced and he hobbled his way into the main room where Reese was extremely exhausted looking and sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup.

"You look like you could use some rest," Harold called over to him.

John stood up from the desk and sat down his cup, hurrying over to Finch.

"_You _shouldn't be out of bed," John replied.

"I'm not a child, Reese, I'll do what I want. Have you made any progress?"

Reese stared disapprovingly but he walked over to the desk.

"I'm...having a hard time getting a trace on Grace's phone..." John began, almost apologetically.

"Then you should have asked for help in the first place," Harold scolded.

"I got a hit on Root's car though," John added. "The car was never near Grace's. Or anywhere concerned with her. Last the car was seen, she was leaving the city."

Harold started to feel more calm, but then a realization hit him.

"Root told me you had done some snooping when you were trying to find places and people connected with her...she said she knew this because of an informant...she has people on her side, Reese...mercenaries...contract killers...who knows...but she has people doing her bidding. Just because she didn't kidnap Grace herself..." Harold swallowed, "...doesn't mean someone else didn't _for _her."

Harold sat down at the desk and huffed when his neck pain started up again.

"Friends...neighbors...no one has seen Grace for three days..." John interjected quietly.

"How is that possible? I just got back yesterday."

"More like...a few days ago," John explained, "You were out for a while...even developed a fever yesterday. I did all I could without taking you to a hospital...i medicated your water."

Finch's eyes widened.

"You needed the medication, Finch," John said defensively.

"No, no, it's not that...i can't believe I was out for days...all that time i've wasted!"

"Yes..." John replied sarcastically, "Because _time _was the main concern over the past few days."

Harold ignored him and began hastily typing on the computer.

John walked over to his coat laying across one of the chairs by the window. When he reached it, he went into the pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Opening it carefully, he periodically glanced at Harold. When he finished reading, he closed his eyes and sighed before walking over to the desk and tapping Harold on the shoulder.

"I found this...the day we stopped at Grace's house..."

Harold snatched the note and a knot formed in his stomach as he read:

"_Harold,_

_I told you this wouldn't be over, and now I had to get her involved. I didn't want to, I really didn't, but you left me little choice. I'll never understand why you had to be so stubborn; all I wanted was access to the machine! We could even be a team, you and I...but I suppose that opportunity has passed. I'm sure you are not pleased by this turn of events, but I would like to make a trade...the machine for Grace. I know how much she means to you and I hope this time you will make the right call..._

_...for her sake._

_-Root"_

Harold clenched his fist tightly around the paper until the ends started to crinkle.

"I know I should have shown you the day I found it, but I knew it wouldn't help you in that condition," John explained quietly.

"We have to get her back, John..." Harold replied with anger shaking his voice.

"I know Harold, we're going to get her back."

Harold crumpled up the paper and threw it into the waste basket.

"When we do John...i'm going to kill her..."

Reese looked into Harold's dark eyes and knew for a fact that he was serious.


	9. Chapter 9

Reese

John didn't bother to argue with Harold, knowing his anger would fuel him for now, but John hoped he could control it. He thought back to his encounter with Dr. Tillman in the restaurant and the words came rushing back to him.

"_If you do this...you will lose a part of yourself...not all...just the part that matters the most..."_

John watched Finch limp away and knew he had to convince him that it was wrong, but right now, if Finch didn't have something, even anger, to hold onto, he would fall apart.

Finch

Finch hobbled back into the bedroom and caught sight of the wrinkled photo of Grace sitting on his dresser. He didn't realize that his hands were in a fist again. Shaking them loose at his sides he went to the dresser and held the picture out in front of him.

_This has nothing to do with her._

Harold closed his eyes tightly and when he opened, he half expected the picture to vanish. Kind of wished it.

_Why did I have to meet you? All the pain you would have been saved if I never reached out to you..._

He looked at Grace's wide smile. She looked like she was laughing and Harold wondered if it was at something he said. He hoped it was. He loved when he made her laugh. A thought hit him: he hadn't heard her laugh in so long. He immediately searched his memories for just the tinniest clip of her laughter. When he came up empty, he gave the photo one last glance before carefully putting it in his pocket.

Slowly pulling open the first drawer of the dresser, he pushed everything out of the way to expose the hard wood. Reaching in, he popped the wood bottom open to expose a small hidden space and inside: a small metal tin. Harold checked over his shoulder to be sure John wasn't around before sliding the tin open. As soon as he caught sight of the object inside, he felt like a cinderblock had been laid on his chest and he could taste something sour in his mouth.

He reached into the box and his fingers closed tightly around the object. When he pulled it out and held it in his hands, he felt like he had pulled evil from the box.

Sitting in his grasp was a small silver handgun.

He had brought this gun when he was with John on one occasion because he wanted to help, but John convinced him it wasn't necessary. Though Harold would have gone with John, armed, he didn't want to ever have to use it. But now, things were different. His morals were becoming priority two when it came to getting Grace back and exacting revenge on Root.

"_Root" _He thought with a touch of irony.

He found it funny that he had still called her Caroline, even while in her custody, and it had somewhat humanized her, but now that she had crossed a line, he had resorted to calling her by the mask she hid behind.

Taking care to be sure the safety was on, Harold put the gun inside his jacket pocket after he was fully dressed in one of his tailored suits. He paused to look into the mirror and put on a face of determination. Masking the swirling emotions he kept buried beneath. Even he himself was convinced it was genuine, but a gleam in his eyes made him look unbalanced, unstable, dangerous even. Dangerous was not the problem, but he knew John would be carefully watching him. Any hint that he couldn't handle himself would jeopardize any chance he had of helping.

_Calm down! Think of Grace! She's counting on you..._

As soon as he thought this though, a revelation came to him and he knew this wasn't true.

_She thinks i'm dead. She wouldn't know anyone was coming for her!_

He suddenly felt sad and sympathetic. While in Root's custody he at least knew John was coming for him. But for Grace, it was different. She couldn't know that anyone would be aware that she was missing. She had no one, and she would assume no one would rescue her.

_I'm coming, Grace..._

He tried to channel his thoughts, hoping by some miracle she would hear this thought and be comforted by it.

Harold stormed out of his room with as much composure as he could muster while his limp was more exaggerated. He found John seated at the desk, deep in work, but when he noticed Harold approaching, he quickly stood up and looked apologetic.

"Harold..." John began,

"I'm fine, did you get a trace on her phone?" Harold asked, keeping his voice calm.

John hesitated but seemed like he knew Harold was in no mood for waiting so John gestured to the chair and began explaining.

"I wasn't able to find her phone. Fusco went back through some security feeds and found a white van scoping the neighborhood the day before she went missing. Carter ran the plates and i'm waiting to hear back where the van was last seen," John said as Harold took a seat at the desk.

"I'll try the phone again, this time expanding the search," Harold began, fingers dashing across the keys. "Maybe I could be of some assistance to Carter as well. Oh and Mr. Reese," Harold paused.

"What is it, Finch?"

Harold thought for a moment.

"I never got to thank you. For everything. Especially for what you are doing now," He said quietly.

"Second chances, right?" John replied with a small smile. "I'm going out to get some hardware," he announced, walking towards the door.

Harold felt comforted by the familiarity the scene had faced him with. Returning to the usual formalities and being back at his desk made him feel, for the first time in a week and a half, at home.

Fusco

Lionel sat at his desk, trying to assist Carter in the search for the white van. The past couple of days had been difficult because, while Reese excelled in everything, he certainly was not equipped with the same skill level in computers as his tiny friend. As soon as Finch had passed out in the backseat, Reese had floored the car, meeting Carter and practically shoved Lionel out to join her. He sped off with a comment about being in touch. Carter had pressed for details the next day, but John only mentioned the woman named Grace was potentially in trouble. While Lionel was certainly curious, he had other things on his plate, but Carter, it seemed, never had enough.

On top of their continuous police work, Carter had made it her personal mission to help this unknown woman. And by _her _mission, it meant he was involved too. He had a hard time seeing why this woman was a priority. Reese didn't even seem to know her very well, but Finch had gone nearly catatonic when he looked at the photo he was holding. Lionel assumed that Finch was really the one in desperate need of rescuing her. He found himself wondering what she looked like and what she meant to the mysterious small genius.

"Fusco, are you even listening?" Carter snapped at him.

"Relax will ya, I got everything! It'll take a few minutes alright?" He growled back.

Lionel resumed typing but also resumed his thoughts. Reese had kept in touch like he said he would over the next few days, but kept Finch's location as well as condition secret. All he said was that Finch needed rest. With that, he told them what to do to search for the woman. They went through her records, started trying to trace her phone, her car, credit cards, or anything that might lead them to her, all while tiptoeing around the office.

Carter's cell started ringing.

At the first ring, Lionel looked up from his desk and the phone was just sitting on her desk, with Carter nowhere to be seen. Lionel first thought it would be invasive to her privacy if he answered it, so he let it go. But when he peeked at the cover that had a bight "number withheld" flashing with every beep, he figured it must be Reese and picked it up anyway.

"Detective Carter's phone, this is Detective Fusco speaking," he said, in case.

"Fusco? I didn't know you became her personal assistant."

Lionel couldn't mistake the sarcastic, bored voice on the phone, usually the only way he talked with him.

"Hey," Fusco began, "Reese had told us you weren't well these past few days. Better now?"

Carter rounded the bend from the laddies room and recognized her phone in Fusco's hand. Glaring at him, she waltzed over and snatched it from his defensively raised hands.

"Carter." She said.

"Hello, Detective," Finch replied on the other end, "How is the car search coming along?"

"We're still waiting for the results. How are you feeling?" Carter asked with concern.

"I'm doing well, thank you," Fusco heard as he leaned closer to the phone. "I may be able to assist you with your phone search," Finch continued.

"That'd be great!" Carter replied, shooing Fusco away. "I'll give you the number."

"No, I already have it," Finch said quickly. "I just need to know the grid you were searching."

Carter shoved Fusco away to resume her conversation more privately. Taking the less than subtle hint, Lionel resumed his work on the computer. Just as he was immersed in the details of a case he had been working, a beep on his computer signaled that they got a hit on the van. He rushed to find out where it had been last seen and waved at Carter to get her attention.

She ignored him and continued to talk in hushed tones.

_Probably being overly sympathetic and bugging him..._

Lionel pulled out his own phone and looked through his recent calls. He had been smart and erased them to eliminate the chance of anyone going through his phone and finding the number, even if it were a burn phone, but now he wished he hadn't.

Losing his patience, he got up and strolled over to Carter, giving her an annoyed look.

"What?" She asked.

"I got a hit on the van, thought he might wanna know," He replied with a nod to the phone.

Without another word, Carter handed Fusco the cell phone.

There was heavy silence on the other end and Lionel figured that he must have heard the last sentence.

"We got a hit on the van," Fusco began.

"And...?"

"It was caught running a light and your chick was in the passenger seat. She wasn't there when the van was scoping the street out, but the van left Grace's neighborhood at 9am and didn't come back. Instead, it went to the outskirts of the city and when it re-entered town, your pal was in the passenger seat. The van was last spotted headed for the bay. About...20 minutes ago it was picked up by the cameras."

There was a moment of quiet and then a click as the phone call was ended.

Fusco held the phone back for inspection and Finch had, in fact, ended the conversation like that.

"We gotta teach these guys how to end phone calls," Lionel snickered to Carter.

Lionel tossed the phone back to Carter.

"Give it a minute, they'll be back with a location to meet em," He laughed.

"Hope you weren't planning on doing anything else with your day, Fusco." She replied.

"And miss this? Naw. I wouldn't miss this for all the reports in the world."

They both half-smiled and waited.


	10. Chapter 10

Finch

The ride to the bay was a blur. Harold's heart was pounding and he felt the sweat pouring from his forehead. Because of the intense adrenaline rush, his ankle didn't bother him at all. Neither did his back. He rustled in his seat, straining against the belt when John made sharp turns. Never before had Harold felt so trapped. Not even when he was captured by Root. This time he couldn't wait to get to her. His anger was cut short, though, when he thought of Grace.

_What will I say to her?_

He could not fathom what would make this whole situation better. He had been dead to her. They were so much in love and everything he did, he had done to protect her, but how would _she _see that? How would she handle him barging in, with Reese's arsenal all around and witness Finch firing the kill-shot into her captor?

Finch shrugged, wiping his palms and cracking his neck.

_It doesn't matter what she thinks...i just have to save her..._

The longest twenty minutes of Harold's life were up. They pulled into a lot a good distance away from where they spotted a parked van with plates matching the one found by Carter and Fusco. Reese flew from the car and popped the trunk, casually assembling his larger guns. Finch too, exited quickly and stumbled after him, shaking with nervousness and anticipation.

"When do we go in?" Harold asked, glancing at the van with a look of despise.

"'We' aren't going anywhere," John replied, touching Harold on the shoulder.

Harold flung around with disbelief.

"What...?" He asked hesitantly, "No...i get to-" He pointed at the van.

"You need to stay here," John began, trying to make his voice soothing, "You wont be safe in there. I'm going to need a getaway driver-"

"Stop it!" Harold growled, turning completely to face John, "This isn't one of the numbers! It's not a job, this is someone I care about. You don't get to call the shots on this one!"

He meant every word but he felt queazy and guilty for shouting at John. He hadn't wanted to be forceful with him, but he needed John to know he wasn't messing around. Not with Grace's life on the line.

John hesitated, but his dark eyes softened a little.

"Stay close to me," John began, "And if anything happens...if I tell you to run...you _run_. Got it?"

Harold nodded, feeling a sigh of relief escape him when John turned back to his guns.

He slid his hand silently into his pocket and found the place he left the gun. He had checked several times that the safety was on when John wasn't looking before he dared to put it back in his pocket for the car ride here. He slid his finger up the barrel until he came to the hammer and further down, the handle and trigger. He could taste bile and he quickly went to pull his hand from the pocket.

Something stopped him though.

_Grace. Think of Grace..._

Harold's flaming anger returned and his grip tightened on the gun. He felt like he had handled a gun his whole life. All his fears were pushed to the back of his mind. When the time came, he knew he could be capable of the things he never thought possible.

Then Root's memory pushed Grace out of the way.

Harold hated her. Hated her for what she was turning him into. But this is what he had to be. He had to become a monster. Someone who felt no remorse for what he had done.

He had to turn into Reese.

As he followed Reese towards the lot with the van, a little piece of Harold screamed out at him.

_What are you _doing_? You are not Mr. Reese! You can't do this, _The voice called out.

He tried to bury it again, allowing the adrenaline to drown his fears. And even his conscience. Reese, armed with machine guns, put his cell phone back in his pocket. Harold must have missed him calling Carter and Fusco. They would be there soon, but for now, it was the two of them. It was better this way, harold had thought. Less people to question his motives.

Spotting a few guards, Reese pushed Harold back against the wall of a storage container.

When they moved out of the way, John pulled a large silencer and equipped it to the front of his gun. Swinging around the crate, he fired one shot and the guard dropped with little more than a moan. His partner came waddling over, right into Reese's second shot. Reese signaled to Harold and they both started out across the lot, keeping low and close to cars and boxes.

Reese occasionally would stop ahead of Harold and they would crouch and wait. Eventually, they came to the van, abandoned in the lot. Harold was a little shocked, but Reese seemed to have expected this and continued on his way, Harold lagging behind him. He tried to keep up and be discreet at the same time, but he had some difficulty. He started to worry that Reese would send him back when he knocked a can off one of the boxes they hid behind.

Reese plucked it from the air while casting a warning glance at Finch, crouching, who replied with an apologetic cringe.

Finally Reese led them to a warehouse, similar to the one Finch was held up in. Upon seeing the large sliding doors, Harold flashed back to his near escape and his knees went weak. Reese must have seen this because he sat a hand on Harold's shoulder and leaned in eye-level with him.

"You don't have to do this..." Reese whispered, "You can still go back."

Harold nodded and cleared his throat while stabilizing himself.

"Reese," Harold began, his eyes darkening, "I would never forgive myself if I didn't."

Reese looked like he thought Finch would actually leave, but he accepted it and turned back to the door. Using a hand to guide Finch to the side, Reese knocked on the door. After a few seconds, footsteps fell stupidly towards the door. Reese had peeked through a hole and seemed to be in control of the situation. When the steps slowed, Reese fired into the wood, the sounds of the guards hitting the floor on the other side.

Harold was used to this sort of thing happening, but his mouth still dropped.

With tremendous force, Reese kicked in the remains of the door. With two great strides, he was in, leaving Harold in the dust. He peeked around the entrance and in a barrage of gunfire, Reese had downed three more armed men. Another had turned tail and was running for the back door spraying shots behind him. Cocking his head to he side, Reese switched to a small handgun with little effort and when the shot rang out, the man fell to the floor, clutching his leg.

Reese jogged up and began questioning the man.

Harold entered the room and began walking to the dead guards. There was something peculiar about them laying there dead. It was so eery and yet, strangely fascinating. They were so still and oddly slumped, with blood trickling down their jackets.

_They look like...nothing..._

Harold tried to use the empty feeling to conjure the strength to put others in the same, still positions that he found these men in. A wedding band on the one man's hand caught his attention. These were people, not machines. They had families and lives of their own. Maybe they didn't even know what they had gotten into. He began to feel sorry for them. He didn't want to have to fire at any of them.

Root was another story.

She was a calculating monster. She knew what she was getting into and didn't care. She didn't mind ruining or taking lives. Threatening innocent women who knew nothing and were only being used as a pawn in her sick game. She laughed in his face while she tortured him, physically and mentally for days and felt no sorrow.

So he would feel none when he killed her.

Reese had knocked the injured man out, signaling he got the answered he needed. Harold trotted over and the Reese loaded a knew clip into his gun.

"They are in the next warehouse," Reese called over his shoulder as they ran out of the building.

Harold was having a harder time keeping up and had hoped the next building was the one they needed to be in. When Reese kicked in the next door, he cleared the first wave of guards with ease, but another group came in and Reese had to duck behind a box.

"Finch! Run!" Reese yelled as he loaded his next clip.

A female scream echoed from the room behind the door to Reese's right.

Harold's eyes locked on the door and he readied himself for the run.

"Finch, no! Get out of here!"

But Harold wasn't listening. He ran as fast as his injured legs would carry him. When Finch reached for the door, a guard reached to grab him. In a flash, Finch turned around and jammed his thumb into the man's eye. He had done it before but that was more in self-defense where this one had some anger to it.

He grabbed the handle, hearing the bullets whizz around the room. He yanked the door open and stepped into the room. There was a single guard who was was caught unaware of Finch's presence until he was face-to-face with Harold's gun. The man went wide eyed.

Harold wasn't trembling, he wasn't second-guessing himself. He meant business.

The guard began to raise his gun towards Harold, while he, in turn, fired a warning shot dangerously close to the man's head.

The guard dropped his gun and raised his hands

"Okay! Okay! Don't shoot!" The man pleaded.

"Run," Harold replied, nodding towards the side door.

The man didn't need to be told twice.

Once the man left, Harold proceeded to the locked door the man had been in charge of. He unlocked it and flew into the room, holding his gun up and trying to look as angry and in charge as he felt. The light of the doorway revealed two people sitting across from each other in chairs. One was tied up an had a bag over their head. A feminine moan came from underneath and he recognized the sweater she wore.

_Grace..._

Then Harold's blood went cold as he stared at the back of the head of the woman sitting across from her. He gripped the gun tighter and was careful to keep his finger off the trigger.

In the dark, the woman stood up and turned to Harold. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't have to, he could never forget her voice.

"Hello, Finch," Root said coldly.


	11. Chapter 11

Harold gritted his teeth. The sounds of gunfire dying down in the next room. The sweat that had covered his brow had gone cold. He wasn't trembling with fear anymore. He stood straight and still, like a cat ready to pounce.

"Root..." He replied firmly.

She made no move to get closer but he saw her head tip down as if she was observing him. She probably was curious what he would do next. He was curious as well, however, now was not a time for curiosity, but action. He swung the gun up and pointed it at Root, standing in a ready position. Shockingly, Root stepped backwards, as though surprised by what he was doing. Root raised her hands as though she was going to make a plea but Finch was too in control now to let her. He was going to make the situation perfectly clear.

"No, you don't get to talk," he said calm and clear, "You have almost single-handedly taken away everything I worked so hard for. Everything in my life up until about five years ago has been for me in one way or another. After that though..." he paused to collect his thoughts. "...I had to protect the things I cared about...or I would lose so much more than I could bear..."

His sentimental tone turned ice cold.

"Why?!" He demanded.

Root said nothing.

"Why must you destroy all that is good? I only wanted to do the right thing and you have taken me down a path I never imagined I would venture. It's a dark place, Root. One I would, and will never understand. Look at me!" He yelled, eyeing his hun. "Look what you've pushed me to!"

She still didn't reply but raised her hands farther.

"What? You have nothing to say?" He asked, stepping closer to her.

"You don't have it in you," she replied nonchalantly.

Harold was amazed by how untrue this was. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't tearing up, he wasn't in a fit of rage. He was Reese. He was in charge and was in power and could do whatever he wanted and she was helpless to stop him. He didn't like this new role, but it was the only one that would rid him of this nightmare she caused.

"I only wish you were right..." he replied almost apologetically.

Harold put his finger on the trigger.

Reese suddenly burst through the door, bleeding from his left bicep and wielding a machine gun in the other hand. He took in Harold with the gun and seemed taken back a moment, not seeming sure what his next move should be. Harold remained calm the whole time. Not even flinching when the doors blasted open, and did not take his eyes from Root, instead intensified his gaze.

"Finch..." John began hesitantly.

The room went still.

"I cant let her get away...not again..." Harold whispered.

Root took a step backwards, but Harold stepped closer and cocked the gun.

"Woah," John stepped closer to Harold and stretched his hand to him, "You can't kill her."

"Why not?" Harold snapped.

Reese was astonished at Harold's tone.

"You don't want to do this. It will stay with you forever. You can't ever take it back."

Harold felt his grip tighten.

"I don't want to take it back...i can live with the consequences..." Harold said a little louder, "I want to be the one to kill her."

"No you don't," John walked up to Harold's side, "This isn't you..."

Harold was starting to tremble. He knew he had to do this now before he lost his nerve.

"Finch...look at me..." John whispered behind him.

Harold struggled not to turn back. He glared at Root and felt his palms regain the sweat.

_Focus..._he told himself.

"Harold..." John was barely audible, "...look...at me..."

Finch saw his hand shake in front of him and his eyes almost watered.

John put his hand on his shoulder.

Harold slowly turned and made eye contact with John. He let his lips part as his arm continued to wobble. He looked like he would say something, but decided against it. Instead he took one last glance at Root and lowered his gun. Reese raised his own and pulled Harold out of the way, keeping his eyes trained on Root. He ran towards her and she backed away, starting to run for the door.

"Stop," Reese commanded before chasing after her and catching her wrist.

When he spun her around, he let his eyes widen. The woman whose wrist he held was not someone he recognized. Her mouth was duct taped and she held a recorder in her free hand. Reese grabbed it from her and pressed "play":

"Hello, Finch...You don't have it in you...You wont do it..." the machine said in a chilling voice.

A list of responses played for the next minute until the tape went silent before her voice echoed again.

"This has been interesting "Finch", you have proven yourself a worthy opponent...i look forward to meeting you again sometime...if you have killed the woman, I am impressed, if not, then I was right about your morals. Seeing as you have disrupted my plans here and had your man kill most of my employees, I'll be going underground for a while...but I can't wait to get together again. Maybe bring Grace?" Then the tape clicked to an end.

John looked back at Finch who seemed empty.

"She used a decoy..." Finch whispered to himself, looking at the woman Root left in her place in case Finch had the nerve to fire.

_She actually believed I would shoot...and I would have taken an innocent woman's life!_

John sat the tape down and opened his mouth to speak but Harold crossed the room and stood in front of the woman with the bag on her head.

"...Grace...?" He asked hesitantly.

"Who's there?!" Grace replied, sobbing.

Harold spotted a ski mask on the tool bench and glanced back at grace. He strode over and pulled it over his face. Then he limped back and pulled the bad off her face. He closed his eyes before the burlap fully exposed her face. He had to will himself to open his eyes again. When he did, he saw the girl he knew so well. Even with tears streaking her cheeks, she was beautiful. He let out a sigh of relief finally seeing her again.

"Who are you...?" her voice trembled and her eyes widened.

Harold went behind her and untied the bonds that kept her in the chair. Grace didn't seem to know what to make of the situation. When she was free, Harold went back to the front and peered down at her.

"...why are you helping me...?" Grace asked quietly.

Harold took a deep breath,

_No going back..._

"I knew your fiance..." Harold replied.

Harold could feel John staring and turned back. With a nod, John took the woman by the arm and left Harold alone with Grace.

"...You knew Harold...How?" Grace started to regain her voice.

"We used to be good friends. All of this is a mistake, though having died, he was part of an identity crisis. He was mistaken for someone else. These people kidnapped you because they wanted to get to a guy named Harold Finch, not Harold Wren."

"Oh..." Grace said quietly, "What is your name?"

Harold paused.

"Nathan Reese," he responded slowly.

Grace nodded and looked sideways at the ski mask.

"Why are you wearing that?"

"Because my identity isn't safe either...and I don't like to take chances."

Grace seemed to accept this and took Harold's hand as he helped her stand up. Heading back towards the door Harold grabbed his things and made sure she would follow. When he reached for the handle, Grace put a hand on his arm.

"Nathan...?"

He looked back at her.

"That woman...she..."

Finch grew concerned and payed attention to every detail of her as he waited for her to go on.

"She told me..." she paused, "She said that Harold was alive..."

"Well I already explained that there was identity issues here so naturally she would assume-"

"But she said he was alive. ...is he...?"

Her eyes were soft and kind.

Harold wanted more than anything to just pull back the mask and tell her everything. Then take her to somewhere safe where they can live together without the machine or danger or anything of his old life. It all sounded great and he couldn't have wanted anything better.

Harold sighed.

"No...he died four years ago..."


	12. Chapter 12

Harold was silent the entire car ride to Grace's house. Reese was in the driver's seat with Grace directly behind him. Finch wanted to put some space between him and Grace for a number of reasons. Not the least of which was to stop from pulling her into a much-needed embrace. Grace occasionally asked questions and Reese gave short, polite responses, but the conversation never drifted to Harold Wren's whereabouts again.

When the car stopped, Harold dreaded stepping through the front door again, possibly for the last time.

Carter and Fusco were waiting at the house, per Reese's instructions, but they were not to openly question Finch's mask. Reese walked over and was explaining more details as Finch paused and took in the picturesque little house.

He didn't even notice Grace walk up beside him.

"It's nice, isn't it?" She asked.

Finch turned to face her and saw her smile at the little home, her eyes regaining their sparkle. The one he hadn't seen up close in years and had only dared to imagine.

"It's beautiful."

"My fiancé picked it. He surprised me," she hesitated while she lost herself in the memories, "We had been looking at apartments and he said he didn't really feel any of them. He had kind of been distant lately…and I thought he was distracted…or that he wasn't very interested. He didn't give the shabby places much thought…but then…for our anniversary…he gave me a box with a key in it. The key to this house," she pointed and grinned from ear to ear. "It was beautiful.

"I couldn't even contain how happy I was. I never thought we could afford a place like this," then her smile faded a little.

"Harold had said to me that night, 'you are all there is in the world to me…I will treat you to the high level you deserve, because… you saved me…'"

She turned to Finch.

"At the time I thought he was being poetic but…do you think he meant anything else by that? That I 'saved' him?"

Harold turned back to the house and took a deep breath.

"I think…from the time I had known him he was always a very private person, particularly driven by work, and…pretty lonely. I believe he loved you very very much, and I know he must miss you terribly as I'm sure you miss him. I sincerely think that you did save him. Saved him by making him finally happy. You have no idea what that must have meant for him. It seems like he was trying to show you in some small way…just how much he cared for you…"

Grace had tears in her eyes, she was smiling but her smile became crooked as her face fell into her hands and she sobbed.

Finch didn't hesitate as he put his arms around her.

"It's going to be okay…" he whispered.

Once inside the house, Grace was sent off to gather her things, leaving the rest of the team to wait in the living room. Reese, Fusco and Carter exchanged looks as Finch toured the house, running a finger across the shelves full of pictures with him and Grace. He smiled as the memories rushed back as he entered each room. Then he stopped in his tracks, distracted by a box seated on a rocking chair in the guest bedroom.

He limped over and gingerly lifted the lid.

Inside, a tape recorder was laying ominously with tissue paper cushioning it.

Finch held it up and his hand shook as he pressed play. Immediately he recognized his own voice:

"Grace…it's…it's me…listen…I was calling…oh…forget it…" There was a long pause. "No, look, I really enjoyed our afternoon…the ice cream was…well it was amazing," he said with a chuckle.

"I know this sounds crazy but…I feel like I have known you for the longest time and…well…I wanted to know if you'd like to do it again, have ice cream. Or, not have ice cream-whatever you want…um…I'm not very good at this…"

Another pause.

"It's been a long time since anyone made me feel this way, and certainly not someone so beautiful. I don't have much to offer…and I'm not good at opening up but…if you give me a chance I can-"

"Harold?"

Finch's eyes widened as he heard Grace answer the phone on the recording.

"Oh…hi, Grace…I um…well, I was making a right fool of myself."

Grace laughed, "Yeah…but I liked that. And I would like to see you again."

"You would?"

Finch could hear the excitement in his own, recorded voice.

"Yeah…I would…"

Finch smiled as he pictured the way he had been pacing around the room while on the phone, asking Grace out.

"Oh man, the machine is still recording!" Grace had said. "Oops!"

And with that, the tape went silent.

Finch didn't need the tape to remember the end of their conversation. He had laughed and he had said that they would have something to look back and laugh at. She said she hoped it would be a long way down the road…

Silently, Finch put the tape back in the box.

When he walks back to the living room, Grace is waiting with her bags.

"All set?" Carter asks her.

With a nod, they gather her things and escort her to the car, Carter explaining the witness protection details.

Before following her bags into the seats, Grace turns around.

"How can I thank you all?"

Reese and Carter smile while Fusco nods.

Finch stands stock-still.

Stay with me…that's how…

"Nathan?" Grace asks, "Thank you…so much. It meant a lot, hearing those things about Harold. He was…the most amazing man I ever knew. And I loved him dearly…"

Finch was choking back tears.

"He loved you too." Reese said it for Finch, who doubted he could get the words out. "You'll be safe now."

Without another word, Grace got in the car with Fusco and Carter and drove away.

Finch could feel the tears falling.

With a deep sigh, Finch pulled off his mask and pulled his glasses from his pocket, placing them back on his face. He tried to wipe the tears and stand as straight as his injured back would allow.

"Are you alright?" Reese took as step towards Finch.

"Yeah…I'll be fine."

Finch wiped away the tears.

"At least this time I could say goodbye. In the end…I knew I couldn't stay with her…telling her what had happened all these years would have destroyed her memories…and maybe us both when we would have to part. It's better this way. Besides…" Finch started to limp towards the car left for them.

"We missed a lot of work…we need to catch up."

_Business as usual…_Finch tried to tell himself.

Once she arrived at the safe house, Grace began to unpack her things. Detective Fusco stood guard as Detective Carter asked if she needed anything. Grace politely turned her away, wanting some time for herself. She had been through a trying experience and wanted nothing more than to put it all behind her.

But something was getting in the way…

She had a feeling that made her spine tingle with curiosity. It all had to do with that man: Nathan. He appeared to know so much about Harold, and seemed oddly familiar.

Was Harold really dead? Or was there something these people weren't telling her?

She almost didn't want to know, out of fear that he had been involved in something bad. But even though she and Harold never made it to take their vows, she was prepared to take him for better or worse. If there was even a tiny chance he was still alive, she wanted to believe in it.

A few days later, it seemed as though nothing had happened. They were back to the numbers, the routine, and Reese had learned not to ask any more questions. They were both starting to get back on the mend, and things _had _gone back to their normal.

Finch had removed her from his thoughts before; he can do it again.

I wont let it distract me…but if she needs me…I will be there for her…

Finch suddenly caught sight of the picture of Root that had been on their glass board when she was an Irrelevant.

Finch gritted his teeth in nervousness and anticipation for the next time he would run into her. What would he say? What would he do? Who would be involved that time? Only time would tell.

Reese walked up to Finch's desk and without a word, put a cup of tea on the desk and walked back over to his chair.

Finch smiled.

_Next time…I will remember that I am not alone._

Until then…they had work to do…


End file.
